


Every heart has its secret

by deacertes



Series: The Concubine Conspiracy [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Espionage, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deacertes/pseuds/deacertes
Summary: Prequel to 'Futile the winds to a heart in port'. Wherein Yusuf and Nicolo first meet.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Concubine Conspiracy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193795
Comments: 138
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter 1

Patting her horse’s neck, Andromache leads it forward to the stream. Crouching down, she scoops up some of the cool water for herself. Untying her head scarf, she trickles a second handful over the back of her neck. The sun is high in the sky and it’s unbearably hot, but she has to press on if she wants to reach the palace before nightfall. Getting back on her horse she returns to the trail. She’s uneasy, although she hasn’t seen anything to merit the feeling. Still, Andromache has learned to trust her instincts and they’re telling her that something is wrong. All too soon her gut feeling is proven right.

As she passes between two boulders there’s a flash of movement to her left, her eyes barely have time to register a dark shadow silhouetted against the sun before she is knocked from her horse. Winded, she curses and rolls onto her feet, drawing her labrys. Rounding on her attacker, she is determined to make certain he regrets his choice of victim. However, while he is soon out of the fight, she still has his four friends to contend with.

She is more than holding her own until one of them gets in a lucky blow that slices deep into her shoulder. Pain spasms down her arm as she struggles to maintain her grip on her weapon. For the first time, she experiences a twinge of fear. The odds are not looking good for her to walk away from this. Of course, that’s when they change.

There is a yell as someone else charges into the fray. Andromache stiffens, uncertain if this is friend or foe. They swing a long sword at one of her attackers, cleaving them open from jaw to groin, before turning to give her a terse nod.

Andromache gives the new arrival a savage grin in return. They stand back-to-back to confront the remaining men, who are now looking a lot less confident. The bandits are hopelessly outclassed. Even with her injuries, Andromache quickly disposes with the one closest to her, and when she turns, the new arrival is running the last man through. The other already lies dead at his feet. She decides she should probably introduce herself. Although, she keeps a ready hand on her labrys.

“Andromache.”

“Nicolo.”

Her rescuer is several years younger, maybe twenty-five or so. He is tall and slender, though the breadth of his shoulders explains the ease with which he swung that blade. He is not of these climes. His skin is a pale olive, pink and burned in places. His hair is brown with bronze glints from where the sun has lightened it. His face, despite the tangled hair and scruffy beard, is arresting, with a generous mouth that’s currently set in a rather grim expression, pale grey-green eyes, and a rather prominant nose.

He frowns and takes a step towards her. She raises her labrys and he freezes. He makes it clear that he is putting away his blade and raises his hands in a universal gesture of ‘no harm’.

“You’re hurt. I simply want to look at your wound.”

Andromache is still wary, but she allows him to approach. He tsks as he looks at it.

“It’s deep. You need stitches.”

Andromache makes a non-committal noise.

“My home is nearby,” says Nicolo. “I can treat it there.”

“I’m fine,” says Andromache.

He looks surprised.

“You’re bleeding,” he points out needlessly. “You won’t get far if you don’t stop that blood.”

Andromache just grunts and calls for her horse. It trots over to her; it’s nervous from the fighting and she talks softly to it to calm it, stroking it between its ears.

“You cannot mean to ride,” says Nicolo, reaching for her.

Andromache looks very pointedly at the hand now on her arm and he draws it back.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll just wait here to pick you up off the ground.”

She dismisses his concern and hauls herself up into the saddle, which is of course when the world spins. She is aware of is a stream of Ligurian swear words that sound like they are coming from the end of a long tunnel. So that’s where he’s from, she thinks. Then everything goes black.

*****************

When she wakes up again, she has no idea where she is, so of course she instantly reacts by lashing out at the person leaning over her. There’s a crunch and a cry, and when she sits up Nicolo is on the floor clutching his now bloodied nose.

He touches it gingerly, then swears and spits, before getting to his feet, swaying slightly.

“I wouldn’t move too much,” he warns her in a voice thick with pain. “You’ll tear your stitches.” He leaves the room.

Andromache blinks and takes stock of her surroundings. She’s in a simple room, resting on a single pallet. There’s a dish of bloodied water on a table beside her, along with some equally bloody rags. She checks her wound. It’s been stitched, neatly, and fairly skilfully, from what she can tell. Still, it hurts, more so now that she’s jarred it. Groaning, she stands and goes in search of the healer.

She finds him outside, hunched over a natural well, washing the blood from his face.

“If you’ve come to hit me again, I would ask that you don’t. I know my nose makes for a tempting target, but there is really only so many times I can reset it.”

“Actually, I came to apologise,” says Andromache, handing him a piece of clean cloth.

He looks at her warily, but accepts it, dabbing gently at his nose, which is at least straight again.

“You could have left me lying in the dirt. You didn’t, so I’m grateful. Thank you.”

One corner of his mouth curls up very slightly.

“It sounds like you don’t say that very often,” he says.

“I don’t. So, you should appreciate it,” says Andromache.

“You hit hard,” he complains, touching his nose cautiously to see if it’s stopped bleeding.

“Let me see.”

He stills seems a little apprehensive, but he allows her to look at it.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You’re a healer?” Nicolo asks doubtfully.

“Nope. I just have a lot of experience with broken noses.”

She grins and he rolls his eyes.

“Come, you shouldn’t be standing yet. You lost a lot of blood before I was able to stem it.”

Andromache does feel lightheaded, but she isn’t about to let on. Nevertheless, she follows him back inside. He bustles about preparing them something to eat; while she sits and drinks from the cup he thrusts into her hand. She does feel a little bad at the way his breathing is restricted by his rapidly swelling nose.

“My horse?”

“Safe,” he assures her. “And proving to be a much more gracious guest.”

Andromache hides a smile behind her cup. She is starting to like this strange young man, who is both healer and warrior, and who appears to be completely unintimidated by her own gruff demeanour. Plus, he has apparently taken good care of her horse, which puts him high in her esteem.

“You live out her alone?”

He glances over his shoulder at her.

“Yes. But do not think about robbing me. I have nothing of value.”

“It would be very ill-mannered of me to rob you, I think,” says Andromache. Although, she doesn’t quite believe he has nothing of value. His sword looks to be a fine weapon. It’s laid out on the table, cleaned and cared for, along with her labrys.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You already thanked me,” says Nicolo, handing her a bowl of broth.

“That was for this.” She directs her chin towards her shoulder. “I am thanking you now for caring for my horse and my weapon.”

“So much gratitude expressed in one day,” says Nicolo. “Be careful you do not become lightheaded.”

Andromache inhales a mouthful of broth and has to cough to clear her airways, which of course jars her shoulder even more. His mouth is still a flat line, but she can see the mirth in his gaze.

“Bastard,” she tells him, groaning, although there is no real heat in it.

“I am yes, but it’s rather rude of you to point it out, don’t you think?”

She stares at him as he refills her bowl.

“You’re such a shit. What kind of healer are you?”

“The kind that lives alone in a hut in the desert,” he tells her flatly.

Well, that’s fair enough. She finishes off her broth and then, much to her dismay, she finds she has to lie down again, her strength depleted.

“Rest,” says Nicolo, gently. “You’re safe here.”

She believes him.

It’s several days before she can stand for more than a few hours without feeling dizzy. During that time, she finds out several things about her strange new companion. He hails from Genoa; he was once a member of the Church; he came to these lands to fight and rose higher through the ranks when it was proven he had an aptitude for it. He turned his back on both when it became clear to him that both the Church and its wars were falsehoods. He still has his faith. He chose to stay because he feels he owes these people reparation, and because he has no home to return to.

It little more prodding on her part reveals that he is reasonably well-educated. He speaks several languages, and his penmanship can clearly be attributed to his time in the Church. She hears him singing as he tends to his goats and the horses. She doesn’t know anything about music, but to her ear it sounds pleasant enough. When she asks him, he blushes and denies having any talent. Although, he also claims to be only a passable dancer. Having seen the grace with which he wields a long sword, she doubts that is true.

He offers to take word of her misadventure to the palace, but he has no horse.

“How do you travel? “

“I don’t.”

Andromache doesn’t want him risking himself on her capricious mount; the palace is still almost a full day’s journey away. So, all there is to do is wait until she is recovered enough to ride.

When that day finally comes she finds herself oddly reluctant to depart. He packs her provisions for the journey and bids her a safe trip.

She punches him lightly on the arm. “You’re making me misty eyed, shut up.”

He gives that strange snorting laugh that he does. She thought at first it was due to his damaged nose, but the swelling has gone down, and even his black eyes are much reduced. 

“I will miss you, Andromache.”

She harrumphs.

“Well, maybe I’ll ride by some time.”

“That would be wonderful. I shall look forward to it.”

He actually sounds like he means it, and she wonders just how lonely he gets stuck out here. She hesitates a moment longer and then mounts up. She nods to him and he gives her a tiny smile in return. Then she turns her horse around and rides for home. She doesn’t look back.

*******************

Two weeks later she is literally ready to climb the palace walls. Yusuf has been following her around wearing a mournful expression, as though what happened to her was in some way his fault. Quynh and Lykon seem reluctant to let her out of her sight in case she vanishes like a ghost. Finally, she sneaks away.

Nicolo seems surprised to see her. Which annoys her a little. Did she give him any reason to doubt that she would visit? However, he is also gratifyingly pleased. He feeds her broth and fresh goat’s milk, and they fall into an amicable discussion on labrys versus bow, versus long sword. She stays the night, refusing to take his bed, instead sleeping comfortably on what looks to be every blanket that he owns.

After that, it becomes something of a habit. Whenever she’s feeling hemmed in by the palace walls, she rides out to see him. Sometimes they barely speak, but the silence between them isn’t strained.

Quynh teases her playfully.

“Aw, Andromache, did you make a friend?”

She mulls that over. Yes, she guesses she did.

*****************

Almost a year later, Yusuf confides in her his fears about his half-brother.

“I don’t know who to trust.”

Andromache smiles. “Your Majesty, I might have an idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

Yusuf doesn’t doubt Andromache exactly, but he’s uncertain how bringing a stranger to his court is going to help. Or what reason this person could possibly have for wanting to aid them. Other than presumably for payment, and Yusuf isn’t sure if he wants to entrust such a delicate matter to someone whose loyalty can be bought.

However, Andromache is adamant that Nicolo's skillset (whatever that means) will prove invaluable in helping them discover if his brother is in fact plotting against him, and who his co-conspirators are. That is of course, if they can come up with a suitable reason to explain his presence in the palace. A servant? Except Jafar distrusts them as a matter of rote. Likewise the palace guards. Also, this Nicolo is a foreigner, which will make his presence even harder to explain.

“We’ll think of something,” says Andromache.

He wishes he had her confidence. He asks that she only speak of this with Lykon and Quynh, to which she readily agrees. She tells him she will ride out to fetch Nicolo.

“What if he refuses.”

“He won’t,” says Andromache confidently.

***************

“No.”

“Hear me out,” says Andromache. “Yusuf is a good King; he cares for his people. Should Jafar come to the throne, rest assured he will show no such consideration for their welfare. Didn’t you tell me you came here to offer reparation? Are you best served doing that by hiding away in the desert?”

“I owe these people nothing. I did not raise my sword to them,” says Nicolo. The goat bleats as he squeezes its teat a little harder than necessary, and he pats it in a silent apology.

“And what of the land in the East? Where cities burned and women and children wept. Do you think the people here heard nothing of that? Do you think none of them went to the aid of their relatives who lived there?”

“I do no harm here,” says Nicolo pleadingly.

Andromache eyes him thoughtfully.

“That’s why you bury yourself out here, isn’t it? So you can do no harm. Well, that’s probably true. But Nicolo, you’re doing no good either. Have you thought of that?”

Nicolo shuts his eyes and swallows hard. He stops milking the goat, resting his head against its warm flank for a moment before sitting back to look at Andromache.

“You are right. Very well, if I can, I will help you.”

“Thank you,” says Andromache.

She outlines the situation in more detail. However, she admits that they still haven’t come up with a good reason to explain why he would be in the King’s employ.

“Maybe I should just claim to be his bed warmer.”

It’s said bitterly and is clearly meant as sarcasm, but Andromache looks at Nicolo. She really looks at him. Terrible haircut and bedraggled beard aside, he is a captivating looking young man. She grins.

He sees.

“Oh, no. Andromache, you can’t think that I could-”

“You wouldn’t have to,” she interrupts. “Not really. It’s just a pretence after all. You would just need to be convincing in the presence of onlookers.”

“And what of the King. Do you not think he might have some objections?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking. He certainly won’t care that you’re a man.”

Nicolo blinks at her.

She’s growing more enamoured of the idea the more she thinks about it.

“It’s perfect. You can be with Yusuf every moment, waking and sleeping.”

“I can?” Nicolo asks in dismay.

“Yes, of course. A concubine is expected to see to the King’s needs whenever they are called to do so.” She looks Nicolo over critically. “Of course, we’ll have to do something about your appearance.”

There is no disguising Nicolo’s horror, but then his face goes blank and he nods.

“Very well, do as you will.”

“What?” She laughs. “No, not me. I have no experience of these things.”

“But I thought that we cannot trust anyone else?” Nicolo asks, confused.

“Quynh and Lykon also have the King’s confidence. I will ride out again tomorrow with Quynh. She is skilled at all manner of things,” says Andromache around a mouthful of goat’s cheese. “She can get you ready and you can travel back with us. I’ll provide you with a horse. That is, if you can ride?”

“Of course I can ride,” says Nicolo moodily.

“Good.”

Andromache decided to select a sedate mount for him, just in case.

*****************

Quynh is positively gleeful that she gets to ride out with her. Andromache has to remind a pouting Lykon that all being well, he’ll meet Nicolo soon enough. They take a third horse and a suitable change of clothing, as well as a few other adornments. They haven’t filled Yusuf in yet on all the details. Andromache figures that’s probably best left for later.

Nicolo’s greeting is more subdued than usual, but his stony demeanour softens as Quynh speaks with him. He instructs Andromache to round up his goats.

“What?” Nicolo asks when she stares at him. “I am not leaving them here unguarded. There’s a family over the next ridge. We’ll give the goats to them.”

Huffing, Andromache gathers up the goats. Not trusting them to run off, and not knowing much about goats, she ropes them together behind his borrowed horse.

Quynh has seated Nicolo on a low stool and is busy shaving his beard and trimming his hair. She waves away his attempts to assist, until he sits meekly and lets her work.

Andromache gives a low whistle when she’s finished, happy to be proven right. Nicolo’s scraggly beard was apparently hiding beautiful bone structure.

“See,” says Quynh, gripping his chin and turning his face to Andromache. “What a pretty face he has.”

“Not bad,” Andromache agrees.

Nicolo blushes and bats Quynh’s hand away, muttering something in his own tongue that makes her laugh. His mouth falls open in clear surprise.

“You speak Ligurian?”

The hope in his voice makes something twist in Andromache’s stomach. She and Quynh exchange a glance.

“I speak many languages,” Quynh tells him.

Nicolo smiles, one of those rare proper ones that transforms his whole face. Andromache hopes he will smile like that for Yusuf. It might help to persuade the King that this is a good idea. Nicolo becomes more amenable to Quynh’s ministrations now she is conversing with him in his own language. She teaches him a few words in hers. He stumbles haltingly over them at first, but quickly proves an apt student. Andromache gets bored waiting around doing nothing and asks if there is anything Nicolo wants to bring with him. Apparently, there is only his sword.

“Nothing else?”

“No. If someone else passes by this way they are welcome to what’s here.”

“And what of when you return?” Andromache asks.

Nicolo shrugs.

“Perhaps it is time to move on. As you say, I am doing little good out here.”

Andromache is starting to regret her words. She realises she will miss Nicolo if he leaves. However, that is a problem for another day. For now, she carefully wraps up his sword and straps it to her horse. It wouldn’t do for a concubine to be seen in possession of such a weapon. Afterwards, she stretches out in the shade while they finish getting Nicolo ready.

Sometime later, Quynh wakes her by kicking her foot. Andromache sits up quickly, one hand already reaching for her weapon, she relaxes as she takes in her surroundings.

“All done,” Quynh tells her.

Nicolo steps forward. The transformation is nothing short of astonishing. Gone are the threadbare garments. Now Nicolo wears intricately woven cloth in a dazzling shade of blue-green. His tunic is very nearly transparent; she can see his dusky nipples and the flat planes of his chest. His hair has been cut to just below his ears, which have been pierced with a series of hoops hung with jewels. His startling eyes have been rimmed with kohl, making their stare even more disconcerting.

Oh yes, he will do very well. She grins and gets up. Nicolo leans back slightly when she approaches him but stands his ground. She walks around him in a slow circle; noticing that while he might be a little under nourished, some parts of him are still plush and bountiful. It's time to put the rest of this half-formed plan into action.

“Right, let’s go.”

Quynh packs up her things. Andromache watches Nicolo approach his mount. He swings himself into the saddle with the ease of an experienced horseman.

“I told you I could ride,” he tells her stiffly, as he passes by with his little entourage of bleating goats.

******************

“So, how do we play this?” Quynh asks, after they have left the goats with a surprised but pleased family of seven.

“Hmm, maybe we say he is a gift?”

“From a far-flung land?” Quynh suggests, getting into the spirit of things.

“Or maybe just Genoa,” says Nicolo flatly. “Since that is where I am from.”

“Do the Genoese typically give Concubines as gifts?” Andromache asks in amusement.

“No, but will this Prince Jafar know that?”

“He has never left these lands,” says Quynh.

“And he limits his learning to what profits him,” says Andromache. “I doubt he has spent a lot of time studying Genoa.”

“So, our King did a favour to some rich Genoese Lord. They wanted to repay him with a gift they thought would please him, so they sent Nicolo, a skilled Concubine.”

“A highly skilled concubine,” corrects Quynh.

It doesn’t escape Andromache’s notice that what bits of Nicolo she can see outside of his face covering are turning very red, and she doesn’t think it’s just from the sun.

“Do you have skills?”

Nicolo swivels around to look at her so fast he startles his horse.

“Andromache,” Quynh scolds.

She throws her hands up.

“Hey, I’m just asking, because if he blushes like a maiden every time someone uses his title, it might look a little suspicious.”

“Title?”

“Best beloved concubine to the King.”

“That… that is quite a mouthful,” says Nicolo.

“So, can you handle this deception, that’s what I’m asking. Because in public you’re going to have to be convincing.”

“Convincing how?” Nicolo asks warily.

“Well, at the very least he will have to touch you sometimes,” says Andromache.

“King Yusuf?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I think I will be all right with that,” says Nicolo. “I am just not used to people. It has been a while.”

Andromache doesn’t know if he means it’s been a while since he was intimate with anyone, or if it’s been a while since he was around people. Both are a little depressing and neither bode well for this scenario.

“Well, we can probably arrange it so you can have a little time together before you go public. We’ll say that King Yusuf wants to spend some time enjoying his new gift, people will believe that.”

“But will Jafar?” Quynh asks.

“Let’s hope so,” says Andromache.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s dark when they reach the palace gates. Andromache dismounts to speak with the guard and he waves them through.

“I’ll see to the horses,” says Quynh.

Nicolo tries to object, but they both point out that a Concubine would hardly see to his own horse. Andromache escorts him into the palace. There are still a few servants wandering about; they and the palace guards look intrigued by this new arrival. Andromache instructs Nicolo to keep his face covered until they meet with the King.

She has the authority to enter the Royal quarters whenever the situation warrants it; she feels this situation warrants it.

Yusuf looks surprised, but not displeased. Although, he does look questioningly at the cloaked and veiled figure standing behind her.

“Andromache, is anything wrong?”

“No, your Majesty. Please, forgive our intrusion, but if I may, I would like to present Nicolo.”

Yusuf nods his permission.

Nicolo steps forward, throwing back the hood of his cloak before slowly unravelling his face covering.

**********************

Yusuf doesn’t know what to expect. He knows that this man has been living alone in the desert for goodness knows how long. He heard from Andromache how he killed three bandits, before taking her to his home and caring for her until she recovered from her wounds. Yusuf feels he owes this man a debt for that alone. Still, he can’t help the niggling doubt as to why Nicolo would agree so readily to help them.

The final part of the face scarf is tugged aside. Yusuf can thank his Royal upbringing for his expression remaining unchanged as he stares into the most compelling eyes he has ever beheld.

Huge and pale, the colour of jade, ringed by dark shadows. Their flat stare is somewhat unsettling, and Yusuf notes with some amusement, refreshingly lacking in servility. Their appearance has been rendered even more startling by the skilful application of kohl. The rest of Nicolo’s face is no less arresting. A generous mouth currently set in a rather grim line, and an equally generous nose that might have looked out of place on someone else’s face but adds a rather regal air to this one. He’s younger than Yusuf was expecting, tall and well made, with long limbs and broad shoulders. Very broad shoulders that taper down to a narrow waist.

Andromache steps forward to take his cloak and Nicolo scowls at her.

Yusuf bites back a smile. It’s rare that he meets anyone unintimidated by Andromache. He can now see Nicolo’s outfit in all its full glory. Shimmery blue-green cloth, so gauzy on his upper half, Yusuf can see through it. There is jewellery too. Yusuf has already noticed the narrow hoops in his ears. Now Yusuf can see he has anklets and bracelets in a similar style; thin chains threaded with tiny precious stones.

Without the protection of his cloak, the younger man’s shoulders hunch slightly.

He looks to Andromache for an explanation. She is smirking, which doesn’t bode well.

“We came up with a reason for his presence in the palace, your Majesty.”

Nicolo hunches even more and his gaze drops to the floor.

“Nicolo suggested that as a concubine, he would be best placed to observe your court at your side.”

Yusuf’s regal upbringing has not prepared him for this response and his face registers his shock. His first instinct is to refuse. A concubine – never! But then he looks again at the young man; Nicolo has straightened up and is staring back at Yusuf, with an almost challenging look in his gaze. This man is a riddle wrapped in an enigma, and Yusuf cannot deny that he is very, very intrigued.

“You are willing to do this?”

“I am, your Majesty.”

“Please, address me as Yusuf if we are to carry out this charade.”

Nicolo nods, but there is nothing meek or subservient about his acquiescence.

“Andromache has explained the situation to you?”

“She has.”

“I have no real evidence to go on,” Yusuf admits. “It is more of a feeling than anything.” He feels foolish saying this aloud.

“I find that gut instincts are usually best listened to,” says Nicolo. “They have kept me alive many times.”

Andromache nods approvingly. Yusuf is starting to see why she is so taken with Nicolo. They are clearly cut from the same suspiciously minded cloth.

“It may take some time,” he warns. “And I will need you to stay until we can ascertain the truth one way or the other.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” says Nicolo.

“What of family, friends?” Yusuf asks. “Is there anyone who will enquire after you. Or recognise you if they were to pass through my court.”

“I was a foundling, placed with the Church. As for friends. I have none of note, and no acquaintance who would visit these lands now.”

Yusuf cannot help but wonder what it is about this man that has left him isolated. However, even as he wonders, he is enjoying Nicolo’s voice. The strong accent has an almost musical quality.

“So, your Majesty, what do you think?” Andromache asks, interrupting Yusuf’s musings.

“I think,” says Yusuf thoughtfully, “it could work. Yes, it could definitely work.”

Andromache smiles, clearly pleased. Nicolo looks a little less enthused, but his eyes say that he is on board with this plan.

“Then I take my leave, your Majesty. I will let you and Nicolo get better acquainted.”

“Wait, what?”

Nicolo’s exclamation echoes Yusuf’s thoughts, but Andromache is already executing a neat little bow and heading for the door. Yusuf can hardly call her back without good reason. Frowning after her, he decides he can at least be a gracious host.

“Please, won’t you sit.” He waves a hand towards the cushions on the floor.

Nicolo eyes them unhappily before sitting down. He looks decidedly ill at ease in his flimsy attire. Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done about that if they are to pass him off as a concubine.

“Have you eaten?”

Nicolo shakes his head. Yusuf summons a servant and asks food and drink to be brought to his quarters. The servant darts a wide-eyed glance at Nicolo before hurrying off to do his bidding.

“So, we should probably learn a little more about each other, yes?”

“What do you wish to know?” Nicolo asks.

“You mentioned the Church. Did you stay there?”

“Yes. I was training to be a priest when the Church told me I had a different calling.”

Yusuf doesn’t miss the bitterness in Nicolo’s voice.

“You did not agree?”

“I wasn’t consulted,” says Nicolo. “But no, I did not agree.”

“This calling, was it to fight?”

Nicolo starts a little.

Yusuf shrugs.

“Andromache told me of your skill as a fighter. I am aware of the wars that plagued the lands to the East. I can only be grateful that they ended before the armies got this far.”

Nicolo’s chin drops to his chest.

“I am sorry. But yes, I was part of that.”

“You deserted?”

Nicolo raises his head again, his eyes are suspiciously shiny.

“During the battle I was trapped under a siege tower. It took me most of a day and all of the night to free myself. When I did, everyone was either dead, or they had already left. I had a choice to follow them and continue to fight or find my own way. I had long since stopped believing in what they said we were fighting for. I took it as a sign that I should leave. So, I did.”

Even though Nicolo has just admitted to fighting his neighbours, Yusuf cannot help but feel a degree of pity toward him. Andromache commended his courage, so it clearly wasn’t cowardice that caused him to walk away from the battlefield.

“Sometimes, when we know something to be wrong, it can take courage to walk away,” says Yusuf.

“You are very kind,” says Nicolo softly.

Two servants arrive at that moment bringing their food and drink. As they set it down, they sneak glances at Nicolo, who seems discomfited by their scrutiny.

“You will have to get used to that I am afraid,” says Yusuf, after they have gone. “At least for a few days, until you are no longer the main topic of palace gossip.”

“I know,” says Nicolo. “I am just not used to being looked at.”

Yusuf wonders if other men have eyes, for he is certain if he had encountered Nicolo anywhere else, he would not have been able to take his gaze off him. Even his ankle bones are lovely.

He gives himself a mental shake. He isn’t supposed to be ogling Nicolo, the man is here to help him. This is a pretence. He does not have the right to fantasise about those long fingers, or the jut of his collar bones and the soft nape of his neck. Yusuf tries to focus on pouring a drink for them both.

Conversation between them doesn’t flow entirely naturally, they are both too new to one another’s company for that, but nor is it strained. Yusuf discovers that Nicolo is quite knowledgeable and has at least an interest in the arts; if no real background in them. He is somewhat quiet for his own part, but Yusuf finds him to be a good listener; the comments he makes show he is listening, not merely pretending out of politeness.

All in all, Yusuf finds himself charmed by his company, which is not what he had been expecting at all when Andromache had announced that she was dragging some desert dwelling ruffian to the palace to help.

********************

Nicolo is nervous. Yusuf is not at all what he was expecting. For one thing, he is much younger than Nicolo had anticipated, barely older than himself. He is also very handsome. Nicolo tells himself this is a good thing. However, he worries about being able to maintain this deception if he is truly attracted to the King. And it’s not just that Yusuf is distractingly lovely to look at, he is also refined and cultured, but not grandiose or overbearing. His servants treat him with deference, but it seems to come from a place of respect, not fear. To put it simply, Yusuf is wonderful, with his dark smiling eyes and soft looking curls.

This could be very bad.

Yusuf hands him various delicacies to try. Nicolo does not want to be discourteous, but he finds he has no appetite. Yusuf frowns, but thankfully doesn’t comment on it. Nicolo grows more uneasy as the lateness of the hour increases. However, he has been riding all day and he struggles to conceal how weary he is. Yusuf of course notices.

“But you must be tired from your journey and here I am keeping you awake. Come, let us retire to bed.”

Numbly, Nicolo gets to his feet and follows Yusuf, wondering if he is to be shown to a guest suite. After all, Andromache cannot have been speaking the truth about sharing the King’s bed.

He is taken to Yusuf’s own room. Apparently, she had been telling the truth.

“Is this all right?” Yusuf asks.

Nicolo nods.

“Yes.” He wets his lips before continuing. “Yes, it’s fine.”

Yusuf looks unconvinced, but turns his attention to the huge bed that dominates the room.

“I am not sure how you would prefer to do this.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” says Nicolo quickly.

“What?” Yusuf seems genuinely aghast. “No, no. That’s out of the question. You certainly cannot be expected to sleep on the floor.”

“I have slept in worse places,” says Nicolo with a one shouldered shrug.

“Well, putting that terrible revelation aside for a moment. I will not hear of it. You are not an animal to sleep at my feet. We will share the bed.”

“We will?” Nicolo echoes faintly.

“Of course, it is a big bed. There will be plenty of room for the both of us, and should anyone enter, it will not arouse their suspicion.”

Put like that, it does make sense. Which doesn’t mean that Nicolo doesn’t find the idea of sleeping alongside Yusuf torturous. Unfortunately, aside from - ‘I find you overwhelmingly attractive’ - he is unable to come up with a valid reason why he shouldn’t.

Yusuf has kicked off his slippers and is clambering across the bed on his hands and knees. Nicolo’s eyes flutter briefly shut and then he shifts his gaze to the ceiling.

He looks back when Yusuf calls his name. Yusuf has gathered all the cushions and built a miniature wall down the middle of the bed. He looks so pleased with himself that Nicolo cannot help but be charmed.

“What do you think?” Yusuf asks.

Nicolo smiles and nods.

“Very good.” He only hopes he doesn’t knock them asunder if his dream bound self tries to reach Yusuf. He thinks there is probably something else he should tell the other man. “I… I do not sleep very well.”

“I don’t doubt it if your sleeping habits involve worse places than a floor,” says Yusuf. He drops his teasing tone when confronted with Nicolo’s sombre gaze. “Nicolo? Please, will you tell me what is wrong?”

“I dream sometimes,” Nicolo confesses in a hoarse voice. “The fighting, the sounds and smells of battle. They haunt me at night. I wake with my heart pounding. Sometimes I am sick.”

**************

Hearing the shame in Nicolo’s voice makes Yusuf’s heart clench. He himself has never ridden into battle, but he has borne witness to the destruction left in its wake. He slides off the bed and walks forward slowly, reaching out for Nicolo’s hands. How cold his poor fingers are; Yusuf wraps his own around them.

“I am sorry to hear of this. I hope perhaps in time these terrible dreams will fade. But I would have you know that you are welcome in my bed regardless.”

Nicolo looks like he is fighting back tears.

“Come.” Yusuf leads him slowly towards the bed. “Let us sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

“What do I… what do I wear?” Nicolo asks in slightly watery voice.

“Ah, just let me.” Yusuf sits Nicolo down on the edge of the bed and finds sleeping garments for them both. “I will turn my back so you may change.” He slips into his own sleep attire.

“I am ready,” says Nicolo quietly.

Yusuf is unprepared for the sight a slightly ruffled Nicolo wearing his clothing. He feels unexpectedly possessive and protective. He takes a deep breath and tries to centre himself.

“Do you have a preference?”

Nicolo looks puzzled.

“Which side of the bed?” Yusuf asks.

“Oh, no. Whichever.”

Yusuf nods and takes the left, allowing Nicolo to take the right, closest to the door.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Yusuf closes his eyes and tries not to think about the beautiful man lying on the other side of the cushion wall.

***********

He must eventually drift off as he emerges from sleep to find that it is still dark. He is unsure at first what has woken him. Then he hears it, a soft whining from the other side of the bed. Now that he is more awake, he can tell that Nicolo is moving around making distressed noises.

Nicolo’s breathing is getting faster and more uneven. There is a sharp gasp followed by the sound of more ragged breaths.

Yusuf waits, but Nicolo’s breathing doesn’t slow, instead it grows more rapid and broken sounding. He calls out softly.

“Nicolo? Nicolo. Do you remember where you are?”

There is no response. Yusuf is becoming increasingly worried. He slips out of bed and lights the oil lamp. It casts a warm yellow glow around the room.

Nicolo is lying rigid amidst the tangled bedcovers. He stares unseeing at the ceiling; his breathing is uneven and frantic.

“Nicolo,” says Yusuf softly. “Look around you. Do you see where you are?”

There is still no change.

“Nicolo, feel the cloth beneath your fingers. Feel how soft it is?”

Yusuf sees Nicolo’s fingers spasm, opening and closing reflexively on the bedcovers.

“Good, good,” says Yusuf, encouragingly. “Now, look, see where you are. Do you see this lamp?”

Nicolo turns his head slightly. Like a man waking from a trance, Yusuf watches him blink and slowly focus on the lamp.

“That’s right. Very good. Now, do you hear my voice?”

Nicolo nods shakily.

“Can you tell me who I am?”

“Y-Yusuf… King Yusuf.”

“Just Yusuf is fine, but yes. That’s right. Now, do you remember where you are?”

Another, slightly firmer nod.

“I am in your room.”

“Yes. I am coming back to bed now. Would you like me to leave on the lamp?”

“Please, if it will not disturb you.”

“It is fine,” says Yusuf, padding back across the room. He gets back into bed carefully.

“I am sorry,” says Nicolo, his voice is tinged with shame.

“You have no reason to apologise,” says Yusuf, gently but firmly. “You told me that you have these dreams. I was already prepared for them. Now, do you think you will be able to get back to sleep?”

“I will not disturb you again,” says Nicolo.

Yusuf takes that as a no.

“Does the sound of my voice help? Perhaps if I talked to you for a little while?”

Yusuf doesn’t want Nicolo to forget where he is again. Nicolo turns his head to look at him. He looks even more weary in the lamplight, the shadows under his eyes darker and more pronounced. Since he isn’t declining the offer, Yusuf selects a long poem that he knows by heart, hoping that it's gentle rhythm will help to lull Nicolo back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Nicolo’s breathing evens out at some point during the fourth poem, and when Yusuf glances over his eyes are closed and he gives every appearance of being soundly asleep. Yusuf stops talking. He waits to see if Nicolo will stir, and when he doesn’t, he lets himself relax. It is clear to him now that Nicolo is tormented by his past. Yusuf isn’t sure how to help him, but he is resolved to at least try. After all, if Nicolo is prepared to abandon own his life to aid him, he is even more indebted to him. He decides to leave the lamp burning in case Nicolo rouses again during the night.

In the end, he doesn’t stir until the morning light spears through the shutters, throwing thin, dusty beams across the room. Yusuf senses him moving but can’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet.

“Yusuf? Yusuf?”

Yusuf prises one eyelid open. Nicolo is sitting up in the bed, looking over at him. The cushion wall is surprisingly intact. He hopes this means the remainder of Nicolo’s night was comparatively restful.

“There is someone knocking, Yusuf,” says Nicolo.

Yusuf sighs and drags himself up the bed to sit. He can hear it now. A faint, respectful knocking. So not Andromache then, and probably not Lykon or Quynh. He clears his throat and calls out.

“Yes?”

“A thousand pardons, your Majesty. But his Royal Highness, Prince Jafar requests an audience with you.”

Well, Yusuf thinks, it didn’t take long for Jafar’s network to bring him the news of Nicolo’s arrival.

“He will have to wait.”

“Your Majesty?”

The servant sounds unhappy at the prospect of carrying this instruction back to his brother. However, Yusuf has no intention of giving in to Jafar’s demands.

“I said, he can wait. I am going to take breakfast in my quarters and then I have other business to attend to. Perhaps later if I have the time, I will speak with him,”

“Yes, of course, your Majesty. Do you wish for me to send for your breakfast now?”

“Yes.”

“At once, your Majesty.”

Yusuf stretches and yawns. His throat feels dry from talking. He rubs a hand over his face, wiping away the last vestiges of sleep.

“Thank you for last night,” says Nicolo quietly.

“You are welcome,” says Yusuf. He means it. This soft-spoken man might have been sent to these shores to do harm, but it is abundantly clear he regrets it, and no longer holds any regard for his Church, or the reasons they gave for fighting. Moreover, it seems evident to Yusuf that Nicolo’s regret is not for himself, but for his actions. Perhaps that explains Nicolo’s willingness to uproot himself and partake in this subterfuge.

Nicolo’s lips twitch in a tiny, grateful smile; so small Yusuf might have missed it had he not been staring at his mouth.

A servant scurries in with a dish of scented water. Nicolo still looks uneasy around the staff and remains standing awkwardly in one corner of the room until they leave. After washing they get dressed back-to-back, before going through to the next room to eat.

Nicolo, he notes, picks at his food just as he had the previous evening.

“Is the food not to your taste?” Yusuf asks. “I can have them prepare something else for you?”

Nicolo flinches and almost knocks over his goblet. His hand shoots out to steady it.

“No… no, it’s fine. The food is lovely. I’m just not hungry.”

Yusuf doesn’t see how that can be the case. He doubts Andromache would have stopped to let them eat. Now that he can observe Nicolo in daylight, he can see that he is thin and drawn. He decides to tackle this from a different angle.

“You are my guest. It will reflect poorly on me if I do not see to your needs, and my staff will relish the opportunity to prepare something different. So, tell me, what foods do you like?”

Nicolo pauses and frowns as he seems to consider this.

“I like plain food. I am sorry, but it is what I am used to. My stomach seems to dislike anything else.”

“No need to apologies, my friend.”

Yusuf calls a servant and has them bring something more suited to Nicolo’s palette. His efforts are rewarded when Nicolo clears his plate.

“We should probably discuss what each of us will be comfortable going forward with this,” says Yusuf. “It is not my wish to cause you distress, but it will arouse suspicion if I do not at least touch you.”

“I understand.”

“Well then, is there anywhere that I shouldn’t touch?” Yusuf asks, as he reaches for a date and pops it into his mouth.

***********************************

Nicolo’s mind first goes blank and then it supplies him with unhelpful images of all the places on his body Yusuf might touch. He can feel his face heating up and he knows that his pale skin is betraying him.

“In public,” Yusuf adds, hastily. “Is there anywhere I should not touch you when we are in public?”

Nicolo feels his heart steady itself.

“I’m not sure,” he says honestly. “Except, maybe do not come up behind me? At least, not without letting me know that you are there.”

Thankfully, Yusuf seems to understand.

“Andromache is like this. I have learned to walk very heavily in her presence after she once almost threw me over a parapet.” 

Yusuf looks neither disturbed nor angry following this revelation. If anything, he appears amused. Nicolo feels the corners of his own mouth turn up. Yusuf notices.

“You like her?”

“Andromache?” Nicolo asks.

Yusuf takes another date and nods as he chews it.

“Yes,” says Nicolo. “I enjoy her company.”

Yusuf chuckles softly.

“She says the same of you. Although, I must admit, there are not many who find Andromache’s company pleasurable. She can be quite… intense.”

Nicolo shrugs.

“Few enjoy my company for much the same reason.”

Yusuf looks thoughtful.

“Then it is fortunate that you have found one another,” he says, quietly.

“I value her friendship,” agrees Nicolo. He isn’t able to interpret the look that passes across Yusuf’s face, but in the next instant it’s gone, and Yusuf has returned to the matter in hand.

“So, in short. I may touch you, but not in a manner that may startle you?”

“That would be best,” says Nicolo.

“What of kissing?”

“Kissing?” He tries not to sound alarmed.

“Hmm,” says Yusuf, eating another date and holding out the dish.

Nicolo takes one without thinking. “I would prefer not to.” He doesn’t think he will be able to maintain this façade if Yusuf were to start kissing him.

Yusuf nods, clearly mulling this over.

“Perhaps if we just put our heads close, pressing our cheeks so they touch, that will be intimacy enough for onlookers, yes?”

Nicolo swallows hard. “Yes,” he says hoarsely. “Yes, that should be sufficient.”

That settled, they discuss the details of Nicolo’s assignment. Yusuf provides a list of names that he suspects may or may not be in league with Jafar. 

“Forgive me for asking, but what makes you believe your brother is capable of this degree of treachery?”

Yusuf’s mouth twists sadly. “Truthfully? He has changed much since his mother’s death. As children, we were inseparable. At least, I always thought so.”

“His mother?” Nicolo asks, hearing the distinction in Yusuf’s voice.

“Yes. My mother is Queen Durr. His was Lady Yanduza, my father's concubine.”

“Then he is your half-brother,” says Nicolo.

Yusuf nods.

“But he was never treated any differently by my father or by myself. He has always had our love, and the respect of those in court. It just seems that for him, that is no longer enough.”

“He wants power?” Nicolo guesses.

“He wants more power,” corrects Yusuf. “He already holds the titles of Vizier and Military Commander.”

Nicolo is surprised by this.

“I thought Andromache was in command of your army?”

Yusuf shakes his head smiling.

“I barely have what you would call an army. We have city guards, palace guards. A few who can be summoned should the need arise. It is one reason we sent supplies not men to our neighbours. My Kingdom has been at peace for almost three generations, and before then it was only skirmishes. I cannot recall any war in our history. We are protected by the hills in the West, and beyond them is the sea. To the North, South, and East are deserts that no army can cross.”

Nicolo cannot help but think that Yusuf and his people are possibly putting too much trust in their topography. However, it’s not his place to say so.

“Andromache is in charge of my mother’s personal guard,” Yusuf continues.

“Your mother still lives?” Nicolo asks, surprised. “I mean… I didn’t know… I didn’t mean…”

Yusuf smile tells him he takes no offence, but it is tinged with sadness.

“She has been unwell for some time. She only leaves her rooms to take short walks in the gardens. She loves the roses.”

“I’m sorry to hear that she is unwell,” says Nicolo.

“I will take you to meet her this afternoon,” says Yusuf. “She can get a little confused, but she still enjoys visitors.”

“Is that… is that all right?” Nicolo asks, confused. “I mean, with what I am pretending to be?”

This time Yusuf’s smile is pure amusement. His eyes crinkle at the corners and his entire face lights up.

Nicolo stares, equal parts entranced and bewildered.

“What exactly do you believe the title of best beloved Concubine means?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

“It is an honour,” Yusuf explains, gently. “A great honour. For you get to see the King at his most vulnerable. People will bow to you. They will treat you with respect. You are considered a valued part of my household. Your role is akin to that of family, not servitude.”

“Oh,” says Nicolo.

“Come, I have business to attend to, and I ask that you join me. It will give you an opportunity to put faces to some of the names that I gave you, and to see how my court works.”

*****************************

Yusuf takes his normal seat on the raised dais. His ministers bring him the daily reports to go over later, for now they give him a condensed version, highlighting any issues or matters that require his immediate attention. Next, he sees the spokesmen from the City; they bring him their reports. Then he speaks with the farmers’ representative, and the merchants’ representative. Finally, he sees the people who have not been able to settle their disputes through the ordinary channels. His word his law. He must decide who is at fault if neighbours are arguing over a horse that kicked down a wall, or a who is to blame for the camel that wandered into a wedding feast.

Yusuf is finally able to wave away the last plaintiff and he sits back with a sigh. He glances down at Nicolo, who is sitting on a pile of cushions by his feet. The man’s presence had led to an amusing number of doubletakes throughout the morning. Yusuf only hopes that Nicolo wasn’t too uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He is interested to hear what he made of it all.

“So, what are your thoughts?”

“That I do not envy you,” says Nicolo, which startles a laugh out of Yusuf.

“You do not care for Palace life?”

Nicolo’s face says he doesn’t.

“Come, we’ll take a walk in the gardens before we eat. No one will disturb us there and it will be safe for us to talk.”

***************

Yusuf is proud of his gardens and he is gratified to see Nicolo admiring them. He blinks when Yusuf takes his arm, but relaxes into it, and they stroll along the paths surrounded by the heady scent of blooms.

“Your brother didn’t attend.”

“No.”

“Is that normal?”

“It depends. Sometimes he will attend every morning for a week. Then he will be absent for two or three. He has men who will report back to him. I am quite certain he misses nothing,” says Yusuf, unable to quite keep the bitterness from his tone.

Nicolo pauses their walk for a moment.

“I am sorry that this matter causes you pain. I hope that I can prove that he is loyal.”

“Thank you. I share that hope.”

*******************

They continue their walk. Nicolo asks questions about the various people who were in attendance that morning, discovering where they stand in the hierarchy of the palace and in Yusuf’s affections. They are just about to pass through an archway and head back to the palace when Yusuf stiffens. Nicolo sees a figure approaching. Tall and richly dressed in red and black, with a flowing cape and a spectacularly ornate turban. Moreover, at first glance his face is almost the mirror image of Yusuf’s. This then must be Jafar.

“Brother, you are proving to be very elusive this morning. However, now that I find you, I see why.”

Nicolo forces himself not to react as the Prince’s gaze crawls over his skin; he feels it like a physical touch. No, he thinks, this man is nothing like Yusuf. Whereas Yusuf’s eyes are warm and welcoming, Jafar’s are flat and emotionless, like a serpent.

Yusuf steps in front of him.

“I said I would speak with you later.”

“Yes, well, it is later,” says Jafar.

“What is it you wish to speak of?”

“Your mother’s birthday celebrations-”

“-Are in hand,” says Yusuf.

“I have not been told of them,” says Jafar. His eyes tighten and the corners of his mouth take on a petulant droop.

“Then I will see that you are informed,” says Yusuf. “Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to dine before I see her.”

“But you haven’t introduced me yet, brother.”

Yusuf’s exhale suggests he is reaching the end of his patience. Nicolo steps forward. Hoping he isn’t committing some terrible breach of royal protocol he places a hand on Yusuf’s arm. He dips his head respectfully.

“I am Nicolo, your Highness.”

“Nicolo,” Jafar purrs. “And exactly who are you to my brother?”

Yusuf snorts at this.

“Really? You’re going to pretend that you don’t already know?”

Nicolo squeezes Yusuf’s arm, silently urging him to keep his temper.

“Jafar, this is Nicolo de Genoa, a gift from those lands and herein to be known as my best beloved Royal concubine.”

Either Jafar fakes surprise incredibly badly, or he just can’t be bothered with the pretence.

“Now, if you will excuse us brother. Nicolo and I wish to eat.”

Jafar smiles and performs a perfunctory bow. Nicolo marvels that his headpiece doesn’t topple off. When he glances back, Jafar is still watching them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the brief update. Real life got in the way of my writing. I will do my best to update daily. If not I will definitely try to update every other day. I finally know where I am going with this. With everything coming to a head in the sequel, I was a bit concerned what could actually happen in this story! There will be drama and action, as well as their developing friendship (with background pining that will be picked up on by everyone but them ;)


	5. Chapter 5

Yusuf is struggling to control his anger; he hadn’t believed his brother would be so bold as to ambush him in his garden. Nicolo has already proven to be a blessing; his calm presence had assuaged his temper and prevented Yusuf from punching his brother right there in the middle of the rose garden.

“Are you all right?”

Yusuf manages to muster a smile.

“Yes. And I want to thank you. I fear if you hadn’t taken hold of my arm, I would have struck him.”

“Have you done that before?”

Nicolo looks slightly alarmed. Yusuf shakes his head.

“No. Never. But then he has never been so disrespectful before. At least, not to my face.”

“Was what he did so bad?” Nicolo asks.

Yusuf tries to think how to explain.

“I refused him an audience. He knew not to approach me, yet he did so, heedless of my wishes. Yes, we are brothers, but I am also his King. By disobeying my command, he disrespects both me and my rule.”

“I think I understand,” says Nicolo. “My knowledge of such protocol is limited. But I can see how his actions show a lack of respect.”

Yusuf sighs.

“It is difficult sometimes, to tread the line between family and my authority as King, but to my eye, Jafar’s actions were calculated.”

“To what end?” Nicolo asks. He holds up a hand as Yusuf frowns. “Peace. I am not questioning your judgement. I only wish to know what you think Jafar got from that exchange.”

“He undermined my authority, by speaking with me against my wishes, and by approaching you.”

“Should I not have spoken to him?” Nicolo asks, looking worried.

“No. It was as well that you did. I don’t want him to take against you too soon. For the moment, he doesn’t know whether to see you as an enemy or a possible ally.”

“Which do you wish me to be?”

Yusuf is surprised.

“You would play the part of traitor?”

“I will play any part of your choosing,” says Nicolo, carefully. “Although, I confess that I do not relish that role.”

Yusuf tries and fails not to feel pleased at that. He doesn’t like to think of Nicolo cosying up to Jafar.

“I think I would prefer it if you were loyal to me.”

“I will always be that,” promises Nicolo.

********************

Andromache greets the pair as they approach the Queen’s suite. Nicolo is still wearing the outfit that Quynh selected. In the light streaming through the palace windows, it is even more diaphanous. She grins as she steps forward.

“Your Majesty. Nicolo.”

She is pleased to see them walking shoulder to shoulder, so close you couldn’t slide a blade of grass between them.

“Andromache. How is my mother today?”

“She’s well, your Majesty. She’s asked after you.”

Andromache is careful not to mention that the Queen also asked after her husband, who has been dead nigh on fifteen years.

“I heard that you had the pleasure of meeting Jafar this morning.”

Nicolo’s nose wrinkles.

“I am not sure that it was a pleasure for either of us.”

Yusuf huffs a laugh.

“I almost punched him.”

“What?” Andromache is alarmed. Yusuf is not normally so quick to anger.

“I had already told him that I wouldn’t agree to an audience. He took it upon himself to confront me in the garden.”

“Why that-” She bites off what she was going to say, mindful that she is still speaking about a Prince.

“It’s of no matter,” says Yusuf, as though he hadn’t just confessed to wanting to commit violence. “I fortunately had Nicolo to stay my hand.”

She watches in disbelief as Nicolo blushes.

Yusuf takes Nicolo by the hand as they step into his mother’s quarters. Still eyeing them speculatively, Andromache trails after them. She didn’t lie, the Queen is doing well today. She recognises Yusuf and welcomes his embrace with a delighted smile.

“And who is this?”

“Mother, may I present, Nicolo de Genoa.”

“Genoa? Oh, you have come so far. You must be tired. Please sit.”

Nicolo looks helplessly at Yusuf, who just gives a tiny shake of his head. Nicolo allows the Queen to guide him down to kneel at her feet.

“Such pretty hair,” she whispers, touching it with her thin, fragile fingers.

“Nicolo is staying here in the palace, mother.”

“How wonderful,” she exclaims happily. Tucking a hand beneath Nicolo’s chin, she gently guides his face toward her. “You must be good to my Yusuf. He deserves all good things. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” says Nicolo, softly.

Her smile widens. Then she turns to the items on her table.

“Oh, but you must have… where is it… I have… ah, here we are.” She takes something from a small sliver chest and presses it into his hand. “A gift for you.”

Nicolo’s eyes widen, and he hastily glances back at Yusuf, who nods.

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

She seems satisfied by this. They stay a little longer. Nicolo sits quietly at her feet while her hands play with his hair. Yusuf speaks with her about the garden, and the plans he has for it.

“You must not disturb my roses, Yusuf.”

“Never,” he promises, kissing her cheek.

Seeing her energy is waning, Yusuf bids his mother farewell and helps Nicolo to his feet. Nicolo turns to him the moment they step outside.

“Yusuf, I cannot accept this!”

He holds out his hand; sitting in his palm is a large, light blue gemstone.

“Very pretty,” says Andromache, peering over his shoulder.

“It’s a gift,” says Yusuf.

“It’s a jewel,” says Nicolo, exasperated.

“Yes?”

“It must be worth a lot of money,” says Nicolo, staring at the gem as though it were a scorpion.

“An awful lot of money,” says Andromache, unhelpfully. “That’s the camel’s eye sapphire.”

“I thought I recognised it,” says Yusuf.

“The what?” Nicolo asks at the same time.

“My father gave it to my mother as a gift, she supposedly exclaimed that it was as big as a camel’s eye. It’s been called that ever since.”

Nicolo holds it out to Yusuf.

“I cannot possibly take this. Not if it was a gift to your mother.”

“My father gave her many such gifts,” says Yusuf. “They are hers to do with as she wishes.”

“You should wear it,” says Andromache.

Nicolo scowls at her.

“Yes,” says Yusuf, “that would please my mother very much.”

“Not to mention it would be a source of constant irritation to your brother,” says Andromache, smiling toothily.

“How do you mean?” Nicolo asks suspiciously.

“My brother loves all manner of sparkly things,” says Yusuf. “He is of the opinion that every jewel in the palace is rightfully his.”

“Stick it wear he can see it,” says Andromache. “How about here.” She pokes Nicolo playfully in his belly, laughing when he swats her hand away in exasperation.

“That’s actually a good idea,” says Yusuf. “Of course, I would never ask you to do such a thing.”

“What?”

“A piercing,” says Andromache. She enjoys watching the way Nicolo’s face freezes. He murmurs something in his own language.

“No, no,” says Yusuf. “It is too much to ask.”

Now that’s he’s apparently gotten over his shock, Nicolo seems to be giving it careful consideration.

“Is it something that is done? By concubines?”

“It would certainly help with this ruse,” says Andromache. “Not to mention every time this rides up,” she pulls on his top and Nicolo batts her hand away again,” Jafar will get an eyeful of something else he cannot have.”

Nicolo’s tongue pokes out between his teeth as he comes to his decision. Yusuf looks on in disbelief. Andromache already knows what he is going to say.

“Yes. I will do it.”

She intervenes before Yusuf can speak. Grabbing Nicolo by the arm she pulls him along with her.

“Come on, we need to find Quynh.”

“Let me guess,” says Nicolo, dryly. “She is skilled in this too.”

“Of course,” says Andromache, with laughter in her voice.

*****************

“It will need to be set in something,” says Quynh, eyeing the gemstone critically. “I cannot that. But I know someone in the city who can.”

“Take Nicolo with you,” says Andromache.

Quynh frowns.

“Is that wise?”

“It will do him good to see something of the city and the people. He should know who he is trying to protect.”

They wander over to where Lyon is talking with Nicolo, about boats of all things.

“One day, I want my own vessel,” says Lykon, “my dream is to sail the world.”

They stop as the two women approach.

“We need to go into the city, you’re coming with me,” Quynh tells Nicolo.

“I am?”

“Yes, come on.”

She walks off at a brisk pace, leaving him to catch up. They borrow a cloak from one of the guards at the gate.

“But no one knows who I am,” says Nicolo.

Quynh eyes his outfit in amusement.

Nicolo huffs and wraps the cloak tightly around himself, heedless of the late afternoon sun.

As they head off into the city, Quynh take this opportunity to observe her companion. When asked, Andromache had described Nicolo as tall, pale, good with a sword, likes goats.

Quynh agrees with the tall and pale. She has yet to see him use a sword; he did seem be concerned about the welfare of his goats.

“So, you were not originally a goat herder?”

He looks startled.

“No.”

“Hmm, and not a concubine?”

“No!”

“So, what was your profession?”

“I was training to be a priest.”

Quynh stops to stare at him. Seeing the truth in his expression, she swears in her own language.

“Why would you agree to do this?”

Nicolo hesitates. They both stand aside as three boys hurtle past, laughing and shouting to one another. Nicolo smiles after them, a touch sadly.

“I did a great deal of harm when I first came here.”

“So, you wish to atone?”

“I wish to do some good,” says Nicolo, quietly.

Quynh says nothing, instead leading him on through the streets.

The silversmith is closing his workshop when they arrive. Nevertheless, he welcomes Quynh warmly and invites them both inside. When Quynh explains, he seems overwhelmed to have been selected for the honour of creating something for the Royal household. He agrees to bring his tools to work on it at the palace.

“I can start now.”

“The morning will be soon enough,” she assures him.

“No, no. My wife will understand. She will be proud that I have been selected for this honour.”

He runs to the back of the shop and shouts up the stairs. An older woman comes down. He explains all in an excited voice. She is, just as he said, proud and delighted. She kisses him, she bows to them, and then she hurries off again.

“She is going to tell all our neighbours,” the silversmith explains as he gathers up his equipment.

Sure enough, she reappears a moment later in her shawl and slippers, kissing her husband’s cheek once more before dashing out into the street.

“I am ready,” he tells them.

“Do you need any help?” Nicolo asks, seeing the large leather bag the man is holding.

“Thank you, but no.” The man pats his bag. “These tools were passed down from my grandfather to my father, to me. They are as precious to me as my wife.” He winks to show he is teasing and puts a hand to his mouth as he whispers. “But do not tell her that.”

They escort the silversmith back to the palace. He seems most entertained upon hearing of Nicolo’s Royal appointment. Nicolo, Quynh notices, is flustered, but not ashamed. Once they arrive, she and the silversmith take some time to decide on a design, and then by lamplight, he begins to work.

“I will send some supper to you,” Quynh says.

“Hmm, yes, yes, thank you,” he mumbles, already distracted with his work.

Andromache appears to escort Nicolo back to Yusuf.

“So, what do you think of him?” Lykon asks, as he comes up behind her.

“He is much more than he seems,” says Quynh.

“Yes,” Lykon agrees. “I got that impression too.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You know, you do not have to do this,” says Yusuf, later that evening as they dress for bed.

Distracted, Nicolo almost looks back over his shoulder, until he remembers they are both half naked. Having already been confronted by Yusuf damp and glistening from his bath, Nicolo isn’t prepared to handle anything else this evening.

“It’s fine. I do not mind.”

Truly, he doesn’t. This seems such a small, inconsequential thing.

“I am getting into bed now,” Yusuf warns.

Nicolo finishes tying his braies and then clambers in on the opposite side, being careful not to jostle their cushion barrier. Yusuf contemplates him solemnly.

“I know you feel you must atone. But I would not have you do it this way.” Yusuf reaches over a cushion to lightly touch Nicolo’s hand. “I would not see you hurt.”

Nicolo tries to reassure him.

“I do not expect it will hurt very much.”

“All the same, do not do this unless you want to.”

Nicolo is incredibly conscious of the warmth of Yusuf’s fingers, he feels his cock twitch between his legs. Mortified, he snatches his hand back.

“It is probably a good idea,” he babbles, nervously. “How else am I to be certain that I will not lose it?”

A furrow settles between Yusuf’s brows; he draws his own hand back slowly.

“A pendant, or a circlet would serve just as well as a setting for it.”

“I prefer it this way,” says Nicolo. “Forgive me, but I’m tired. I would like to go to sleep. Goodnight.” He rolls over with his back to Yusuf. Thankfully, after its initial transgression, his cock is now behaving itself.

“Yes, goodnight,” Yusuf murmurs.

Nicolo hears the rustling over the other side of the bed as Yusuf settles himself. Nicolo closes his eyes and hopes he will be able to sleep through the night without disturbing him.

********************

Aside from some bewildering dreams, that are for once free of blood and turmoil, Nicolo sleeps right through. This is rare enough that he meets the morning light with confusion at first; used, as he is, to waking in darkness.

Yusuf is still asleep. Nicolo rolls over and takes this opportunity to study him. Yusuf’s handsome features are lax in sleep; long dark lashes skim his cheeks, and there are faint lines at the corners of his eyes. This is a man who smiles a great deal, Nicolo thinks, a kind man. He would not have expected Andromache to serve anyone less. In the time he has known her, he has come to see that she holds few in any real regard. Yusuf is one such man, and wondrously he himself appears to be another.

Nicolo has spent much of his life in a state of solitude; in some ways alone, even when surrounded by others. It feels almost overwhelming to have this. Even sharing a bed is a novelty. He has, of course, bedded down alongside others in his army, and he shared a dormitory with other boys in his youth. But to have this. To feel the soft puffs of Yusuf’s breath against his face. The tug of the bedcovers as he moves in his sleep. Nicolo has never known such happiness. He feels a sudden pang at the thought of returning to his former lonely existence, but he pushes the thought away. That is a worry for another time.

***************

Andromache arrives after breakfast to ask Yusuf if she might ‘borrow’ Nicolo. Yusuf’s mouth twists into a troubled moue, but he nods, and so they make their way through the palace corridors to the room where the silversmith has set up.

“New outfit?”

Nicolo grumpily casts his eyes downward at his fresh set of garments, which sadly provide no more covering than the first.

“Don’t worry, once you have had this done, people won’t be looking at your clothes.”

Nicolo glances sharply at her. She just grins at him, entirely unrepentant.

The silversmith greets them excitedly, clearly eager to see the gem he is to work with. He has spent the night working on possible designs, though he looks startling awake for all that.

Fortunately, the Camel’s eye is not actually as big as its namesake, being closer in size to the end of Nicolo’s thumb. Even so, after cooing over its beauty, the silversmith tsks in dismay.

“It is too large to wear hanging. See, feel the weight of it. It would pull on his skin. No, no that won’t do at all.” He steps closer to Nicolo. “May I… ah… see?”

Andromache motions with her eyebrows for him to go ahead.

Nicolo twitches slightly as the silversmith takes hold of his tunic and lifts it. His lower garments sit agonisingly low on his hips, so his belly is almost entirely exposed.

“Hmm, yes, yes. So if I… Hmm, perhaps…”

The man continues muttering to himself as he holds the gemstone close to Nicolo’s navel. After a moment or two more of mumbling, he positions it so it’s actually sitting in the shallow indentation.

It’s warm from the man’s hand, and not as sharp or as uncomfortable as Nicolo was anticipating it would be. Of course, they haven’t actually pierced his skin with it yet.

“Yes, yes.” The silversmith steps back. “I have a design that will work. Quite plain, you understand, but it will be beautiful in its simplicity.”

Nicolo manages a small smile because honestly, that sounds better than he had hoped for.

******************

Despite being forced to compromise his artistry, Asbat Is determined this will be the finest work he has ever done. He is a little confused by Nicolo. Of course, he has not encountered a concubine before, but he never imagined them to be so skittish. Then again, his beautiful wife had been quite bashful on their wedding night. Indeed, they both had. This young man is fortunate indeed to have been gifted to the King, for King Yusuf is a kind man, and will no doubt be gentle with him.

Asbat Is pleased that the young man seems interested as he works. While the palace guard wanders off to talk with the archer, Nicolo watches from a respectful distance. Asbat pauses now and then to explain what he is doing. He wonders if this young man once entertained hopes of being an artisan. He can’t imagine that his current profession was his first choice. Although, there are far worse fates than living in a palace.

He works throughout the morning. At midday he pauses to eat, and the others leave too. He doesn’t see them again until late in the afternoon when he announces that he is finished. Andromache is the first to step forward and examine the completed piece. She nods.

“It’s good.”

Quynh examines it more thoroughly.

“As always, you do beautiful work.”

Nicolo is trying to peer over her shoulder, she turns to show it to him. Asbat waits nervously to see if it meets with the royal concubine’s approval.

“It’s wonderful,” says the young man. The corners of his mouth curve up very slightly.

Asbat thinks this is probably the equivalent of a shout of joy from most men and he feels like dancing about the room.

“Come, you must rest here,” Quynh says. “Take off your tunic.”

Nicolo looks less than happy about having to remove his top, especially with Andromache smirking in the corner. He throws it at her, and she catches it laughing. Quynh takes him over to the wooden rest and he leans back against it. Once he is in position, she picks up the needle. Nicolo eyes it warily.

“It is perhaps best if you do not look,” advises Asbat. Compassion compels him to put a hand on Nicolo’s cheek and guide his face away from the approaching needle.

She is quick and precise. Nicolo stiffens and sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, but otherwise he stays still and silent. Asbat slides the jewellery into place, and then Quynh steps forward again to bathe it with the salted water. Nicolo grimaces.

“Is it done?”

“All done,” says Quynh. “See?”

Nicolo cranes his neck to look.

“You must not touch it,” Asbat warns. “Except to bathe it with the salted water every day. Let the air flow around it. That will help it heal.”

“Oh, he’ll have plenty of opportunity to do that,” says Andromache.

There is the sound of someone clearing their throat from by the door. Asbat turns to look and almost collapses. It is the King. He tries to get to his knees, but he is old and not as agile as he once was. He is still hovering somewhere between standing and crouching when a hand on his arm steadies him.

“Please, you do not need to do that.”

Asbat stares wide-eyed at the King and bobbles his head.

“I wondered if I might be allowed to look?”

Quynh and Andromache move away from Nicolo, and the King steps forward.

Asbat watches anxiously for the King’s reaction. The King’s mouth falls open and he lets out a shaky breath. His eyes are bright, and his cheeks seem a little flushed when he looks up from the piercing to his concubine’s face.

“It’s beautiful. Tell me, are you happy with it?”

Nicolo nods and gives another one of those small smiles.

The King turns to face Asbat, who wills his legs to hold him up.

“Thank you for creating something so lovely to grace the body of my best beloved concubine.”

“It was an honour, your Majesty.”

“Andromache, please see to it that this man is rewarded for his work and given a safe escort back to his home.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Nicolo?”

Having carefully put on his tunic, Nicolo accepts the King’s arm, and the pair depart.

Asbat starts to gather up his tools, by the time he has finished, Andromache is stood waiting with a large drawstring pouch. She holds it out to him somewhat stiffly.

“For you.”

He has to cradle it in both hands; it’s reassuringly heavy. He wonders if it would be rude considered rude to look at the contents now. In the end, he decides an old man can perhaps be forgiven for his curiosity. He loosens the drawstring and looks inside.

He almost drops it, for in addition to the large number of coins, there are a handful of stunningly beautiful gemstones.

“The King thought that as an artist, you would also like something that you could create with.”

Asbat feels tears prickling his eyes.

“Please, tell the King thank you.”

She nods and holds her hand out.

“It might be best if I carry that for you.”

His arms are already starting to ache from its weight, so he is more than happy to hand it back to her. He is eager to show his wife. If she isn’t out talking with their neighbours. Perhaps he should make her something. Yes, she will like that. Something big and beautiful that will make his brother-in-law’s eyes bulge the next time they call. Asbat chuckles softly and heads for home.

************************

Nicolo can feel the piercing as he walks. It itches and stings slightly, but it is not too uncomfortable. He notices that Yusuf keeps glancing down at it. Though it cannot be clearly seen through his tunic.

Sitting down is a new experience. He wonders if he will always be this conscious of it.

“Are you all right?” Yusuf asks, worriedly.

“Yes,” Nicolo assures him, “it’s just a little… tender.”

“My words were not just for the silversmith’s benefit. It truly looks beautiful on you.”

Nicolo isn’t sure how to answer. He reaches for a date and chews it vigorously.

“I admit too, that I am eager to see my brother’s response tomorrow. He was in attendance this morning. He seemed most put out that you were not.”

“Half-brother,” Nicolo mumbles around a second mouthful of date. He doesn’t know what makes him say it. A part of him simply wants to have that distinction.

“Yes, half-brother,” agrees Yusuf, absently. He fills Nicolo in on some of the morning’s events. The most notable being a delayed caravan train from the Western port.

“Can you think of any reason for it?” Nicolo asks.

“A ship might have been late into port. The guards might have got drunk while they were waiting for the goods to be loaded, and the merchants will have to have waited for them to sober up. There are many reasons.”

“So, you are not worried?”

“I am always worried,” says Yusuf, “until my people return safely. But no, not particularly, except-”

“Except?” Nicolo asks.

“Except my brother was adamant we need not go into the hills to search for them. He is right, it is probably too soon to be taking such action. But he was very vocal in his insistence.”

“He’s not normally concerned for the well being of the caravan trains then?”

“Not unless they’re bringing something for him.”

They finish their supper and get ready for bed. Nicolo lies down on his back. His piercing still itches, and he tries to distract himself by mulling over what Yusuf had told him. Why is Jafar so concerned that no one should go looking for the caravan? Is it bringing something he hopes to unload in secret? Nicolo is resolved to find out more. He wonders if Jafar will approach him tomorrow. He will surely not be pleased to discover what has become of the camel’s eye.

******

An arm’s breadth away, Yusuf is having his own battle with sleep. He hadn’t expected to have such a strong response to Nicolo’s new adornment; but the sight of that gem sparkling against that smooth tanned skin had instantly caused his cock to fill. He was only grateful that his garments concealed it. He had struggled on the walk back to their quarters. Fortunately, by the time of their arrival, he had regained some semblance of control. But it was maddening to know of its existence, to be able to see it but not touch it. He should have forbade it. Huffing in annoyance at himself, he rolls angrily onto his side and prepares for a restless night’s sleep.

************************

Yusuf does not consider himself to be a vindictive man; but he cannot deny that he is enjoying this. In direct contrast to the first meeting, when Nicolo had perched stiffly at his feet, the younger man now sprawls across the cushions in a sort of insouciant, decadent sprawl.

He has deliberately – it can only be deliberate, Yusuf thinks – hiked up his tunic so that everyone in the room can see the dazzling gem that takes pride of place in Nicolo’s navel.

Several of Yusuf’s visitors press forward to try and get a better look. Jafar is incandescent with rage; the feathers in his turban are quivering. Nicolo turns a little more onto his back, stretching artfully. His tunic rises up to reveal flat brown nipples; the lower part of his outfit already sits so low Yusuf can see the lines leading down from his belly to the junction of his thighs.

Jafar makes a choked noise.

Yusuf hides a laugh behind his hand, turning it into a cough. In truth, he is almost grateful for Jafar’s ill temper, since it distracts him from the sinfully lovely sight lounging at his feet.

The last of the attendees depart, and it is just Yusuf, Nicolo, and Jafar.

Jafar springs forward at once; hand stretching out like a talon towards Nicolo. Yusuf moves equally swiftly, seizing his brother’s wrist.

“Do not,” he warns.

Jafar stares at him furiously, then he jerks his hand free and backs away.

“You would give the Queen’s gift to this… this creature?”

“My mother, the Queen, gave this gift to Nicolo herself,” says Yusuf, placing careful emphasis on the words.

From the way Jafar goes still, he had not been expecting that.

“You took him to see the Queen?”

“He is the Royal concubine. He goes wherever I wish him to,” says Yusuf.

Jafar cradles his wrist sullenly as he digests this.

“Also, please know that if the caravan does not return tomorrow, I intend to send out a party of guards to search for it.”

Jafar opens his mouth as if to say something and then snaps it shut again. He performs his typical perfunctory bow and with a last hateful look towards Nicolo, he storms off.

“Well,” Nicolo drawls, “he certainly knows whose camp I am in now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently belly button piercings were a thing in ancient times, and men had them too. I am doing a lot of hand wavy after care with this, as belly buttons can take a *long* time to heal. Nicolo just has superior powers of healing even when he's not immortal ;) The image is the closest thing I could find to what he has, just imagine something silver at the top, in place of the second smaller gem.
> 
> Also, this story might actually end up being longer than the first one :o


	7. Chapter 7

Andromache is disappointed to learn that she has missed seeing Nicolo’s performance, and as soon as she manages to get a break from her duties, she tracks him down. She finds him sitting alone in the Royal quarters. She leans over and helps herself to a handful of dates.

“So, I hear Prince Jafar was literally spitting feathers when he left the assembly this morning.”

“Well, he definitely hates me now,” says Nicolo, “if that’s what you mean.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, he was always going to hate you. Jafar hates anything that belongs to the King.”

She watches in fascination as Nicolo’s cheeks darken, and files that tidbit away to tell Quynh and Lykon later. However, for now, she decides to spare him and so she switches the conversation.

“So, how do you plan to start?”

Nicolo looks morose.

“It is hard. I need to speak with people, but no one wishes to talk with me when I am with Yusuf.”

“So, go for a walk without him.”

“How do I do that?”

“Simple.” Andromache reaches down and tugs him to his feet. “You stand up and walk. Go on, get.” She pushes him towards the door.

“But Yusuf-?”

“-won’t return from his bath for ages yet. When he does, I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry, just go do your thing.”

“My thing?” Nicolo asks puzzled.

Andromache mimes lifting up her top while fluttering her eyelashes.

Nicolo rolls his eyes.

“Yes, very funny. Ha ha.”

“Nicolo, make no mistake, the idea of you wandering around the palace in that outfit is going to entertain me for years to come. Years!” Andromache calls out after him as he stomps off.

She wanders over to the window and rests against the wall as she waits.

********

Yusuf frowns when he enters the room and sees her waiting, apparently alone; he immediately looks around for Nicolo.

“He isn’t here, your Majesty.”

“So I see. Would you mind telling me where he is?”

“He’s doing what he came here to do,” says Andromache, calmly. Yusuf’s mouth tightens. She waits. The King is a reasonable man. Sure enough, Yusuf exhales deeply, after which he looks calmer, if not any happier.

“Whose idea was this?”

“His. And mine,” she admits. “Look, I know you want him safe. I want that too. But he came here to do a job, and he can’t do it if he doesn’t poke around a little by himself.”

“You didn’t think to accompany him?”

“Honestly, that wouldn’t be much better than having you by his side, your Majesty.”

“Did he…” Yusuf hesitates. “Did he seem eager then, to leave my company?”

Andromache isn’t often taken by surprise, but she actually feels her jaw drop slightly.

“Erm… no, your Majesty. Indeed, he was concerned that you would be unhappy to find him absent. He would not leave until I assured him that I would inform you of the reason.”

That was stretching the truth slightly, but Andromache certainly wasn’t of the opinion that Nicolo was in any way opposed to the King’s company.

Yusuf seems to relax upon hearing this.

“You are right. Nicolo must be able to move around the palace freely if he is to uncover anything. I just worry in case someone should try something when he is alone.”

“Nicolo can take care of himself. From the stories he's told me, he has led a difficult and dangerous life since he first landed on these shores. This may actually be the safest he has ever been.”

Yusuf doesn’t look very reassured by this.

“He is unarmed.”

“That outfit doesn’t allow very much room for a weapon,” says Andromache. Seeing Yusuf’s frown, she quickly adds, “but I will see what I can come up with, your Majesty.”

“See that you do,” Yusuf tells her. “I do not want any harm to come to him, Andromache.”

She bows and takes her leave.

****************

She encounters Lykon in the armoury and explains her problem.

“How am I going to find something he can conceal in that outfit?”

“It does pose something of a problem,” Lykon agrees. “Maybe a garotte?”

“Maybe,” she muses, unhappily.

“How about a garotte and something else?”

“Such as?”

“Well, he certainly isn’t going to be able to hide a sword in there. But maybe a dagger? Just a tiny one.”

“Do we have anything like that?”

“No, but it’s the King’s command, right? So, it shouldn’t be too hard to get him one made.”

Andromache nods.

“Thanks, Lykon.”

“No problem. I look forward to seeing him use it. I want to see some of these moves you’ve been going on about.”

“Just attend the assembly tomorrow,” says Andromache with a toothy grin. “He’s got a whole set of new moves now.”

*****************

Nicolo feels strangely liberated, moving through the palace without an escort. He gets a few wide-eyed glances from the servants, but when he smiles and offers a greeting most of them smile and nod back. He isn’t sure where to start; he definitely needs to find out more about the people who live in the palace and those who visit it. Perhaps he should try to get an outsider’s point of view?

Nicolo makes his way to the guard’s hut and requests the cloak he had used when he left the Palace with Quynh. The guard looks uncertain as he hands it over.

“I am not sure you should be leaving the Palace, sir. Not unescorted,” he adds hastily.

“Do you have orders to that effect?” Nicolo asks. 

“Er… no.”

“Then I think it should be fine, don’t you?”

“Er, yes, sir.”

Nicolo smiles, swings on the cloak, and steps out into the city. He is instantly assaulted by noise and smells, and the general hustle and bustle of people going about their daily business. He didn’t realise that people must have stepped aside for him and Quynh, which answers the question whether they knew who she was. Now he has to jostle and fight his way through the heaving crowds. He isn’t used to it, and he definitely doesn’t like it. It puts him too much in mind of another time and another place, and he feels nauseous from the press of bodies.

He manages to stagger into an empty side street. He feels something brush his side and he seizes hold of whatever it is without thinking. Nicolo looks down into the wild eyes of a child. It’s unclear whether they’re a boy or a girl. They’re grimy and dressed in rags, and he is holding their wrist in a bruising grip. He loosens it at once, but he doesn’t let go.

“If you’re looking for money, I have none.”

They frown, but it’s unclear whether they’re having trouble discerning what he’s saying, or if it’s because of what he’s said.

“See,” he tells them, using his free hand to lift aside his cloak to show his lack of purse.

The child’s eyes widen at his outfit and Nicolo drops his cloak again rapidly.

“What is your name?”

The child clamps their mouth shut comically tight and shakes their head.

“I am not going to hurt you,” Nicolo promises. 

What that gets him is a sharp kick to his shin, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he crouches down so he can look the child in the eye.

“I can see we have gotten off on the wrong foot. Let’s start again. My name is Nicolo. I am from a far off place called Genoa. That is why my voice sounds funny, and why my eyes and hair look like this.” He lowers his hood to show them. “Now, will you please tell me your name?”

The child shakes their head fiercely. Nicolo pretends to frown and look thoughtful.

“Hmm, I see, but what if I pass by this way this time tomorrow and I have food and cake, how will I know who to give it to?”

“Cake?” The child blurts out. They quickly slap their free hand over their mouth.

Nicolo smiles; the child peeks shyly at him from beneath dark knotty bangs.

“What if we make a deal. You tell me where to bring the cake. And I promise to bring it tomorrow.”

The child looks torn between their instinctual mistrust, and the promise of cake. Eventually they nod and point further down the street.

“You live down there?”

“You can bring the cake there,” says the child. “The end of that street, on the corner.”

“All right,” Nicolo agrees. “This time tomorrow.”

“How big a cake?”

“Sorry?”

“How big will the cake be?”

“Does it need to be big?” Nicolo asks.

The child nods.

“Because you like cake, or because others will want to eat the cake too?” Nicolo guesses.

“My friends will want some.”

“Then it’s very good of you to share,” says Nicolo.

“And I do like cake,” the child adds.

“Then I will bring the best and the biggest cake that I can,” says Nicolo. “Shake on it.” He lets go of the child and holds out his hand.

The child stares for a moment and then gingerly takes it; his large hand engulfs their small, thin one. They shake solemnly and the child then pulls their hand back and flees into the crowd.

Nicolo smiles.

“Small steps,” he murmurs, “small steps.”

***********

He pulls his hood back up and continues down the side street. There are a few shops, but it’s mainly houses and buildings he cannot place – storerooms perhaps. He is able to get directions from a man sitting in a doorway, and eventually he succeeds in locating the silversmith’s house.

When he lowers his hood, the silversmith seems bewildered to see him.

“But your gift is not ready yet.”

“My gift?”

“You do not know?”

Nicolo shakes his head slowly.

The silversmith throws his hands up and makes an exclamation of despair.

Nicolo hurries to assuage his distress.

“Whatever it is, I still know nothing about it, and I will feign surprise if and when it is handed to me,” he promises.

“You can do that?”

“Of course.” Nicolo makes an expression of surprise, followed by a smile. “See, he will never know.”

“But now you have guessed it is from the King,” the silversmith says mournfully.

Nicolo shrugs helplessly. “I don’t really know many people. Even fewer who would buy me a gift.”

The man wipes his hands on his leather apron and extends them to Nicolo.

“I am Asbat. Now you know one more.”

Nicolo smiles.

“Call me Nicolo.”

Asbat nods.

“Have you eaten?”

Nicolo shakes his head.

Asbat hurries over to the stairs at the back of his shop.

“Hadija? Hadija, we have a guest. Bring us some food.”

There are shuffling sounds from above and a figure descends halfway down the steps. She sees Nicolo and instantly hurries up them again.

“My wife will prepare us something.”

“That’s very kind of you both, thank you.”

“Not at all. Hadija loves visitors. She is always complaining that we don’t see enough people. I tell her, ‘my love, what would you have me do, shut up my shop just so we can entertain? Then what would we feed them when we have no money.’”

Asbat looks towards the empty doorway.

“I must say, I am surprised to see you out alone. You have no guard with you?”

“Not today,” says Nicolo.

Asbat’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, but he makes no further comment. He shows Nicolo around his workshop, hastily throwing a cloth over something on a bench.

“It must be wonderful, to be able to create such beautiful things,” says Nicolo.

“It is all I know how to do,” says Asbat, modestly. “My grandfather taught my father, and he taught me. Alas, I have no children.”

A sound makes them turn; Hadija is descending the stairs carrying a tray. Asbat hurries forward to help her.

“But I have been blessed with a beautiful wife” he adds, smiling adoringly at her.

“Oh, go on with you, you foolish old man,” she says, but she’s smiling.

They set out the tea things on a rickety wooden table, working seamlessly together in the way of those who have shared their lives for many years.

Hadija declines to join them, saying she has errands to run.

“Wife, you must not tell anyone that the King’s concubine is here,” says Asbat, worriedly.

“Of course not,” says Hadija. She pulls her shawl around herself and slips out into the street.

“She won’t tell anyone,” Asbat reassures Nicolo.

“It’s of no matter,” says Nicolo.

“No,” says Asbat. “It would be best if people did not know. Most people here are good, but there are some…” His voice trails off and he shrugs.

“Tell me,” says Nicolo, gently.

Asbat frowns.

“Why do you wish to know?”

“The King worries about his people. If he asks if there is anything troubling them, I would like to be able to tell him. Don’t worry, I won’t mention your name.”

Asbat regards him thoughtfully as he pours out their drinks, and then after Nicolo takes his first sip, he begins to talk.

“Well, there is a man, his name is Mutarrif….”


	8. Chapter 8

The sun has almost gone down when Nicolo prepares to depart, and the streets are growing dark. He waves away a concerned Asbat’s offer to walk him home, thanks them both for their hospitality, and sets off. His journey is thankfully uneventful. He finds Andromache waiting for him at the gate.

“So, how angry is he?” Nicolo asks.

Andromache frowns.

“The King? Not at all. He was concerned that you had gone alone, but he understands the necessity of it. He is not a main prone to irrational anger, Nicolo.”

Nicolo feels slightly chastened.

“I did not think he was,” he says, honestly. “I was only afraid that I might have upset him by leaving without asking.”

“You’re free to come and go as you, please. You’re a guest. Not a prisoner. Also, here. Next time his Majesty wants you to take this.”

Bewildered, Nicolo takes it. The object turns out to be a soft leather knife sheaf, with plaited ties to fasten it to an arm or leg. He stops walking to examine the blade; it’s slender, roughly the length of his palm and perfectly weighted.

“Beautiful work,” he murmurs, appreciatively.

“You’ll have to strap it to your leg, it’ll be too visible through that tunic, but at least you’ll be armed.”

“This is from Yusuf?”

“He wanted you to be able to defend yourself,” says Andromache. “Should the need arise.”

“He is very kind,” says Nicolo.

“You’d best go to him now,” says Andromache. “I don’t think he’ll rest until he knows you’re back.”

Nicolo nods and smiles, and hurries toward the Royal quarters. In his haste, he almost collides with a servant exiting the room. He apologies and ducks around them to step inside.

“I said I’m not hun-” 

Upon seeing him, Yusuf stops. Getting quickly to his feet, he rushes across the room and takes hold of Nicolo’s arms as he looks him up and down.

“You are unharmed? You are safe? Yes?”

Nicolo is too startled to speak; the most he can do is let out a startled ‘umph’ as Yusuf pulls him into a hug. Yusuf is warm and solid, and he smells both sweet and pleasingly musky.

All too soon Yusuf lets him go and steps back. He keeps a hand on Nicolo’s arm.

“You are unharmed?” Yusuf asks again.

“I am unharmed,” Nicolo assures him. “I spent the afternoon speaking with your people. I hope that was all right?”

“Of course,” says Yusuf, but the lingering tightness around his eyes suggests otherwise.

“I apologise if I worried you,” says Nicolo. “That was not my intent.”

Yusuf releases a long breath.

“Andromache explained, and you are both right. You must be permitted to move freely around the palace and the city if you are to discover anything.”

“I did learn some things today,” says Nicolo.

“Come, sit and tell me.”

Nicolo blinks as Yusuf’s hand trails down his arm to take his hand. He lets go once they are seated, but Nicolo still feels the residual warmth radiating from his palm. 

He tells Yusuf about a man called Mutarrif, who is extorting money from the shops in the city; the thieves who have been targeting the elderly on their way to purchase food in the market; and the people who are skimming goods from the caravans.

Yusuf is incensed by what he hears. He demands the immediate arrest of Mutarrif; he makes plans to recruit more guards so he can increase the number of patrols.

He is stunned by the thefts from the caravans.

“We must find out exactly who is behind this. The ship’s captains; the crew; the dockworkers; the caravan guards? We cannot take action until we know everyone who is involved.”

Nicolo agrees.

“I could perhaps find work on the docks. I am more likely to discover something that way than by questioning them directly.”

Yusuf doesn’t look like he favours this idea.

“How would you even get work?”

“I am from Genoa; they will assume I am familiar with it.”

“And are you?”

“I know a little, certainly enough to get by for a few weeks.”

“A few weeks!”

“It may take me some time to gain their confidence, or to at least to find out something.” Nicolo doesn’t add that it could well take longer than a few weeks.

“Let us discover what has happened to the missing caravan train first,” suggests Yusuf. “There is growing disquiet over what fate might have befallen them.”

“What do you think has happened?”

“In the past we suffered attacks from the people who live in the hills, but my grandfather made peace with them many years ago, and there has been no trouble since then.”

“Do you think they may have reneged on that peace?”

“I cannot think what reason they would have to do so. Stealing merchandise from a caravan is a steep price to pay when they surely know it will see an end to the accord between us.”

Nicolo agrees, but he has also seen leaders make reckless, foolish decisions before, often to the detriment of their own people.

“Let me ride out tomorrow to see what I can find out.”

Yusuf again looks like he will protest. Feeling bold, Nicolo places a hand on top of his.

“Yusuf, this is why I am here. Trust me to do my work. I was a soldier for many years. I can take care of myself.”

Yusuf nods, but he is clearly unhappy.

***************

Hearing Nicolo make the same assurance as Andromache does little to allay Yusuf’s fears. It’s not that he doubts Nicolo’s abilities, but the war in the East was some years ago, surely Nicolo cannot have served as a soldier for long? Besides, he was part of an army then, not fighting alone. When he makes this point to Nicolo, Nicolo slinks down a little lower on his cushion and shakes his head.

“I was often alone.”

Yusuf tries to work out what he means by this.

“You were a scout?”

That gets him another terse head shake.

“Then I do not understand.”

“My role was to observe the enemy from close quarters. I had picked up most of the local dialects, so I would liaison with the spies we had in their camp. And I was also good at killing surreptitiously.”

Yusuf is watching Nicolo carefully when he says this; he sees the pain in Nicolo’s eyes that refutes the flatness in his voice. Yusuf selects his own words carefully.

“I am unfamiliar with the actualities of war, but I am aware of its brutal nature, and how men are sometimes forced to do terrible things that they would never do in a time of peace.”

“I do not enjoy killing,” says Nicolo. “But I am good at it.”

Yusuf reaches across and takes both of Nicolo’s hands in his. He turns them over, examining them. They are large, powerful hands, long fingered, with thick sword callouses.

“I see no blood on these hands,” he tells Nicolo, quietly, “and whatever things they did, I can only be grateful that they kept you alive and brought you to me.”

Nicolo’s eyes are bright, and his mouth trembles when he looks at Yusuf.

“If you must ride into the hills tomorrow,” Yusuf continues. “I would not have you go alone. I cannot spare Andromache but take Lykon and Quynh. They are both good scouts, and they are familiar with the land. I do not doubt your skills, but it is always useful to have another set of eyes, yes?”

Nicolo manages a grateful, watery smile.

“Yes, another set of eyes would be good.”

“Then it’s settled. They will ride out with you tomorrow. Now, we must eat.”

Yusuf summons the servant back and has them bring them some supper.

He isn’t surprised when Nicolo wakes during the night, panting and distressed. He lights the oil lamp and speaks softly to Nicolo until the glassy-eyed panic recedes.

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you,” says Yusuf. “There is no need to apologise. And should you ever wish to talk, I am here.”

Nicolo lets out a short, sad exhale.

“Thank you, although I am not sure where I would begin.”

“I am sorry that life has been unkind to you, my friend. Truly, I cannot think of anyone who is less deserving.”

“You barely know me,” says Nicolo.

“A King must be able to read people. And I believe you are a good man.” He rolls over onto his back and stares at the canopy overhead. “It is strange, I never considered myself to be lonely; after all, I am rarely alone. But your companionship has proven a boon to me.” Yusuf turns his head to look at Nicolo again. “And I find I am most grateful for it.”

“I understand,” says Nicolo. “I wasn’t alone as a boy, or as a soldier, but I still felt as though I was.”

Yusuf smiles.

“Then is it fortunate that we found one another.”

His stomach does a strange little flip when Nicolo smiles back at him.

********************

“Will you not keep still,” chides Quynh. “You are upsetting the horses.”

Lykon pointedly looks at his mount, which is flicking its tail in a lazy manner as it stretches its neck towards an urn containing a big leafy plant.

“Don’t let it eat that,” says Quynh, pushing its nose away just before its teeth can close on the greenery.

“I wasn’t going to,” defends Lykon. He draws the animal’s head towards him. “Khali is just bored, aren’t you my friend. How much longer do we have to wait?”

“We are here to escort, Nicolo. So, we wait until he is ready.”

Lykon harrumphs. He is impatient to get underway. This is the perfect opportunity to learn more about Andromache’s companion, as she herself has been maddeningly closed mouthed. She had never let either of them to accompany her when she rode out. The most they had got was a brief description and word that he could fight, since she sparred with him.

As Lykon saw it, anybody who could hold their own against Andromache was worthy of note.

“He’s here,” says Quynh quietly. “And so is the King, so you had better straighten up.”

Lykon gives her a lazy smile as he stands smartly to attention.

The King greets them both with a brusque nod. His attention is on Nicolo, who has exchanged his gauzy attire for some plain, serviceable garments and a sword.

“You will return before sundown?”

“Yes, Yusuf,” says Nicolo gently.

It’s strange to hear the King being addressed by his name by someone outside of the Royal family. However, if the way the King is looking at Nicolo is anything to go by, he doesn’t seem to mind. Quynh hands Nicolo the reins to his mount, and with a last nod to the King, the three of them ride out.

The sun has only just started on its journey across the sky, but the cool night air has long since left these lands. They slow the horses to a walk to stop them from tiring too soon.

“So, Nicolo. Andromache says you know how to use that thing.” Lykon nods his head towards the sword on Nicolo’s back.

“Does she.” Says Nicolo, mildly. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t care to call Andromache a liar.”

“You are a swordsman then?”

“I can use a sword,” says Nicolo. “There would be little point me carrying one otherwise.”

“Oh, now I see it. Now I see why Andromache likes you so much. You’re just like her!”

Nicolo stares back at him with that same damnable, phlegmatic expression.

Only Lykon swears he can see humour dancing in those strange pale eyes.

“He’s laughing at me, Quynh.”

“Why wouldn’t he, you’re very funny.”

Lykon holds a hand to his chest in mock pain.

“Wounded, I am wounded. My good friend, siding with this, this - interloper,” Lykon pretends to be annoyed, and gesticulates towards Nicolo so wildly he almost unseats himself from his horse.

“She’s right,” says Nicolo. “You’re very funny.”

Lykon rights himself and wags a finger at Nicolo.

“I like you.”

“I like him too,” says Quynh.

Lykon gives a satisfied nod.

“There, we both like you.”

“That is a relief,” says Nicolo.

Lykon squints at him, but the man’s face is impossible to read.

“I will take that as a compliment.”

Nicolo’s mouth twitches.

“He smiled!”

“He did not,” says Quynh, bringing her horse forward so she can stare at Nicolo.

“He did, his lips did this.”

Lykon demonstrates.

“Hmph, that could just have been a spasm,” declares Quynh.

“A spasm? That was not a spasm. I made him smile,” says Lykon. “That means he likes me too.”

“I do,” says Nicolo, easily.

“See!”

Quynh shakes her head at their antics and rides ahead of them.

“So, about that sword. Just how good are you?” Lykon asks.

Nicolo ducks his head.

“Are you smiling again? Hey, Quynh, I think he’s smiling again…”

**Author's Note:**

> This probably won't be as long as 'Futile the winds to a heart in port', but a few people expressed an interest in reading about Yusuf and Nicolo's first meeting, and I decided I was interested in visiting that scenario too. 
> 
> Picture 'Hermit Nicolo' as a heavily bearded, long haired Luca Marinelli!
> 
> Title from a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.


End file.
